


Regret

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, mild mentions of torture, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5906818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon must deal with the aftermath of a poor decision that resulted in a hurt partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mentions of torture, so tread with caution, but it’s dealing with the aftermath. Meant to take place early in the partnership. And the dungeon saltires described in this piece were largely inspired by those in the Shadow Temple from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

Napoleon’s heart was in his throat as he made his way through the THRUSH dungeon.  It seemed to be deserted; THRUSH had, apparently, left the moment they had gotten wind that U.N.C.L.E. was sending in reinforcements to rescue Illya, who had been captured for a piece of Soviet military information that they desperately wanted.

 _A code_ , Napoleon thought, bitterly.   _They wanted a stupid launch code.  But did they leave Illya here, or did they take him with them?_

And though the fact that THRUSH had wanted a code was bothering him, the circumstances of Illya’s capture were what were gnawing at Napoleon’s conscience.  Napoleon had been distracted—a brunette caused him to turn his head, like so many times before.  And like so many times before, Illya had gotten frustrated and had decided to wander off on his own rather than be witness to another charm attempt.  Napoleon had only heard the sounds of a struggle later, but by the time he had arrived to back his partner up, he had vanished.

And now the trail had led to here.  Each room was just the same—dark and cold.  Napoleon suppressed a shudder.

“Illya!?” he called.

There was no answer.  Napoleon kept walking down the stone-carved corridor until he reached the antechamber at the end.  There were large, wooden x-shaped structures all around him in this room—giant saltires, each with chains and manacles dangling from them, like metal vines off of dead trees.

The American agent was about to turn and leave when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large, limp shape dangling by his arms from one of the saltires.  Blood dripped from many wounds onto the floor.

“ _ILLYA_!?”

Even before he had gotten over there, he knew it was him—it couldn’t have been anyone else.  And, sure enough, after Napoleon had unchained the unmoving form from the saltire, he turned him over in his arms to see his partner gazing up with wide, glazed-over eyes.

“Illya!?  Illya, say something!”

There was no sound from the Russian—no movement, either.  Only the faintest pulse fluttered beneath Napoleon’s fingers when he placed them to Illya’s neck—and he could swear it was growing weaker by the second.  And in the back of his mind, a voice shouted accusingly at Napoleon, _Your fault!  Your fault!  YOUR FAULT!_

“Illya…!” Napoleon’s voice was choked with a sob.  He should have been there!  Should have been there to back him up like a good partner was supposed to do!  “Illya, please…!  Don’t die on me!”  He cursed himself; even now, he sounded so selfish!  His voice dropped to a whisper.  “I’m sorry, Illya.  I should have been there with you, not some girl.”  He froze, thinking he felt something change in the Russian’s pulse.  “Illya!?”

And then he heard the faintest whisper—so faint that it might have been a sprite in the wind—

“Na… po…leon…?”

Napoleon glanced back down, staring into the Russian’s eyes again.  They were still slightly glazed, but now they were trying to focus—on him.  Illya didn’t look angry or upset; he looked relieved, and Napoleon felt his heart being squeezed—Illya didn’t hold anything against him.  He never did.

Napoleon cradled his partner’s wounded body close to him.

“Will you hang on, then?” he asked, at last, feeling Illya’s pulse strengthen slightly even more.

“… _Da_ …”  The Russian’s eyes closed, tears of pain springing to them.

“Sleep now,” the American instructed him, gently.  “I’ll look after you.  I promise.  This time, I’m not going anywhere.”

Illya gave a slight nod as the tears slipped from his eyes.

“I… didn’t tell… anything…” he said.

“Shh.  I know.  Of course you wouldn’t,” Napoleon said.  “Sleep.  I’ll be right with you the entire time.  I’ll get you out of here.”

He stood up, carrying his partner in his arms as he carried him away from the room of saltires.

They would pay, he silently vowed.  They would pay dearly for what they had done to Illya Kuryakin.

And after that, Napoleon would vow to be a better partner.  Second chances were rarely given; he would make the most of it.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received a few requests to continue this; here's the next installment, also a short piece. There might be more if I get the inspiration.

Napoleon hadn’t moved from the chair in hours—not since Illya had been brought in to Medical. The staff had assured him that the Russian’s injuries were not life-threatening, and it would just be a matter of dealing with the pain—and some painkillers would help with that.

Even so, Napoleon was not able to get rid of the guilt he had been feeling since he had found Illya in that THRUSH dungeon. A moment’s distraction on his part had led to Illya getting captured. And as an agent, distraction was something he should have guarded against, for reasons such as this.

He glanced back at his partner, lying tucked beneath the white sheets. For the past hour, Illya had been drifting in and out of awareness, but now, it seemed that he was, finally, waking.

Several minutes later, the blond’s blue eyes fluttered open, blinking a few times as he contemplated where he was.

“Illya?” Napoleon asked, softly.

The Russian’s head turned to face the American, and his expression looked content. He attempted to move, but found that his arms weren’t coordinated, and Napoleon gently grabbed his stray hands and place them back at his sides before he accidentally hit himself.

“They’ve given you some painkillers,” he explained. “You’re likely to remain a little loopy for a while.”

“Oh… I see…” Illya said, a slight slur evident in his voice. He frowned, trying to focus. “How… long…?”

“You’ve been out since I found you last night,” Napoleon said. “It’s ten in the morning now—nearly twelve hours.”

“Oh…” Illya said, again.

“Illya… Do you remember anything about what happened?” Napoleon asked.

“ _Da._ They wanted information… I would not give it to them…”

“Illya…” Napoleon said, not sure that the Russian fully realized what had happened. “Illya, the only reason they were able to take you was because I wasn’t there to back you up. I let myself get distracted—”

Something seemed to click in Illya’s mind—as though he was remembering what had happened just prior to his abduction.

“Not your fault,” he slurred, at last.

“Illya…!”

“Got frustrated… Wasn’t paying attention…”

“You wouldn’t have _gotten_ frustrated if I hadn’t…” Napoleon began, but he trailed off. “I shouldn’t have gotten sidetracked. And I shouldn’t have let you go off alone. Illya, I am so sorry. I realize it’s rather empty for me to be saying that now, but--”

“I forgive you.”

Napoleon could only stare.

“Illya…”

“Napoleon… you are my partner,” Illya reminded him. “I know… you would never… abandon me. The fact that I am safe now… is a testament to your concern.”

Napoleon gave one of Illya’s hands a gentle squeeze with his own.

“Of course it is,” he agreed. “But just tell me, Illya—if there’s anything I can do for you now—anything at all… All you have to do is ask.”

“Just… stay,” Illya said.

Napoleon blinked in surprise. He had been intending to go after Illya’s attackers now that he was on the mend. But, clearly, Illya didn’t want him putting himself in danger alone—and, perhaps, simply wanted his company during his recovery.

“Of course I will, _Tovarisch_ ,” Napoleon promised. “I’ll be right here.”

Content, Illya gave a quiet sigh and drifted back to sleep as Napoleon continued to keep a watchful, caring eye over him.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic also ties into my Baron of THRUSH arc, which began with “Prelude of Light”

Illya was still worryingly pale after he was released from Medical. He had weaseled his way out early somehow; Napoleon wasn’t sure how, and he hoped to one day learn the trick, but right now, it was his partner’s condition that concerned him. True to his word, Napoleon hadn’t left his side, though he had wanted to go after the THRUSH men who had tortured Illya. But, as his absence by his partner’s side had caused the trouble, Napoleon couldn’t bring himself to leave him again—especially not when Illya had requested his presence.

That was why he had put Illya up in his own apartment, rather than let him stay alone in his own flat next door; Napoleon’s apartment had more comforts and luxuries, which were what Illya needed for his recovery. The Russian spent most of the day relaxing in an armchair by the window, the pink slowly returning to his cheeks with each passing day. And to top it all off, Illya had forgiven Napoleon, refusing to hold it against him that he had vanished in his hour of need. Furthermore, he seemed to trust Napoleon not to vanish again, and Napoleon certainly had no intentions of doing so.

“I think,” Illya said on one afternoon. “That I am ready to return to my flat.”

“Is the food not good enough for you here, _Tovarisch?_ ” Napoleon said, attempting to bring some humor into the conversation. “I’ll have you know that I’ve taken some cooking classes as part of a cover once.”

“Not at all, Napoleon. I have eaten well here—as well as some of the finest eateries I have encountered in my travels. But I fear I have imposed upon you for far too long; I do not wish to overstay my welcome or take advantage of your hospitality.”

“Illya,” Napoleon says, firmly but gently. “You are welcome here anytime, and for as long as you’d like. But I don’t think you should be alone until we’re certain you’re better. If you go back, I’m going with you.”

“…Very well,” Illya replied, quietly. “I shall remain here for a while longer, then. Thank you, Napoleon.”

“It’s the least I could do, considering I’m the reason they got you.”

“No, Napoleon; please do not blame yourself.”

“Well… I guess how you got like this doesn’t matter; even if you’d ended up like this some other way, it’d be the same.” He cleared his throat, trying to awkwardly move on to another conversation. “I, ah… I’ve been looking up the files of some of the THRUSH agents who grabbed you. I think it should be easy to track them down--” 

“No!” Illya suddenly exclaimed. “Napoleon, you mustn’t!”

“Why?” he asked, stunned.

“Because they do not know that I am with U.N.C.L.E.!” Illya explained. “You have my wallet—you found it where I had dropped it. They never saw my identification.”

“Then why did they take you!?”

“Because I was Russian,” Illya said. “They thought I had some military information—”

“The launch code,” Napoleon muttered. “It really _was_ all about that?”

“ _Da_. As far as they are concerned, U.N.C.L.E. was sent to intervene as an international agency because no American agency would have raised a finger to help me for altruistic reasons; nor would my people be allowed in to help me, assuming they had wanted to. If you go after those THRUSH members for this, they will realize that this is personal—that I am your partner. The Baron has seen me without knowing who I really am; if you wish to capture him, as I know you do, you must let this matter go, Napoleon.” He exhaled. “I was too weak to explain the whole thing to you in Medical; all I could do was ask you to stay with me. I know how much capturing the Baron means to you; I would not want you to lose your chance on account of me. And, of course, I did not want you getting injured—or worse—in your zeal.” He gave a wan smile; he also had wanted Napoleon’s company, but he would be far too reluctant to admit that out loud.

Napoleon could have been knocked over with a feather; they had barely been partners for five months, and Illya was already prioritizing Napoleon’s somewhat lofty goal and his personal safety over his own troubles.

The American nodded now, giving Illya’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Someday, though, _Tovarisch_ ,” he promised. “I’ll find them for you.”

And Illya smiled back. Of that, he had no doubts.


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this installment, I think I can say the Regret saga is officially finished!

It was another several days before Illya was ready to go back out into the field again. Napoleon had patiently waited and helped him to this point, and was happy to see that Illya didn’t seem any worse for wear after his ordeal.

Despite that, it irked him that the ones who had tormented Illya had not faced repercussions for what they had done to him—nor, indeed, had Napoleon himself. He had confessed to Waverly immediately upon their return that Illya’s abduction had been his fault—that it had been his being distracted that had caused Illya to be taken. And he stood in front of Waverly’s desk, preparing to face the music.

But Waverly merely gave him a look and puffed on his pipe.

“Well, Mr. Solo, I trust that it shall not happen again.”

“Absolutely not, Sir.”

And that had settled everything, as least as far as Waverly was concerned. Napoleon had been expecting a reprimand, at the very least, but it seemed that the other shoe wasn’t going to drop.

“Well, then; I do believe that is the end of it.”

“Sir…?”

“Mr. Solo, it is clear to me that you deeply regret the events of that unfortunate evening. Mr. Kuryakin has sustained no permanent damage, nor does he blame you for any of the unpleasantness he has endured.”

“…And I’m grateful for that, Sir,” Napoleon said. “But, under the circumstances, are you certain that you don’t think it would be better for me to work alone—or have Illya partnered with someone else?”

“I think things should remain as they are,” Waverly replied, calmly. “I assigned Mr. Kuryakin as a partner to you for a reason. It’s best for all of us if the two of you carry on with your original plan of apprehending the Baron of THRUSH.”

“…Yes, Sir,” Napoleon said, at last.

And, indeed, as he rejoined Illya on their next assignment, it was clear that the Russian was acting as though his ordeal had never happened. And, as they pursued their quarry—a small satrap a few hours outside of the city, Napoleon began to fall back into his element.

The duo had snuck into the satrap with relative ease; though the Baron wasn’t here, they were hoping to pick up a clue as to where he might be headed next.

But it was as they peered around the corridor and saw a THRUSHie head into a room that Illya suddenly drew in a quiet, but panicked breath.

“You alright?” Napoleon asked, in a whisper.

“… _Da,_ I am,” Illya said. “It’s just that I recognized that man.”

“Really? I’ve never seen him before…” Napoleon trailed off, and then glanced back at Illya. “…He’s one of the ones who tortured you, isn’t he?”

Illya didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. Napoleon exhaled and began to approach the door, Special in hand.

“Napoleon, no…!” Illya whispered, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back into the shadows. “I told you about how they don’t know that I am an U.N.C.L.E. agent! If you wish to catch up to the Baron, you cannot allow them to link you to me--and that means not engaging unnecessarily with them!”

“Don’t you worry your pretty, yellow head,” Napoleon assured him. “I can be in and out of there before he even knows he’s been tranquilized.”

“But you will likely draw the attention of others here!” Illya said. “Please, Napoleon, don’t do this! You have worked too hard to just throw away everything you have now—and for what? For me? For vengeance because you feel as though this is the only way you can make it up to me? Napoleon, you are a better man than that. You know that we must focus on the mission—that there is no time for personal vengeance.”

And as the American looked back at the Russian, he suddenly realized what Waverly had meant when he had assigned Illya as his partner for a reason—not just because he was capable of keeping up with Napoleon every step of the way, but also that he could keep him grounded—and that Napoleon would respect and care about him enough to listen.

Napoleon glanced once more at the door he had seen the THRUSHie escape through and turned back to Illya.

“Let’s keep looking for the Baron’s itinerary,” he said.

Illya smiled and nodded, and he quickly followed by the American’s side. And Napoleon reflected on how it wasn’t just Illya’s reminder that they had to focus on the mission that convinced him to change his mind so quickly. The whole reason Illya had been taken the first time was because Napoleon had not been there for him when he needed to be—because he had not been where he was supposed to have been.

He wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.


End file.
